


Let It Happen

by Lafayette1777



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M, Missing Scene, Rebelcaptain - Freeform, and something must have happened between jyn and cassian, considering that really heavy look they exchange just before landing on scarif, i am in so much pain, its relevant to my suffering, lets assume there was some travel time between yavin and scarif, listen to the tame impala song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9190106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafayette1777/pseuds/Lafayette1777
Summary: In the blurred space between Yavin IV and Scarif, Jyn and Cassian breathe each other’s air.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i love this movie so fucking much my star wars standards have been raised what am i gonna do
> 
> p.s. i might have to write a little fix-it au so keep your eyes peeled if you're into that

The stars blur into rain, into meaningless light. Hyperspace. Cassian, for a moment, watches the orderly chaos that is the universe folding in on itself, then excuses himself below decks with nothing more than a murmur. 

He glances into the cargo hold as he heads below and catches the briefest glimpse of Chirrut and Baze on one of the benches, their heads bent together and hands intertwined. Somewhere above him, he hears K2’s even timbre, though the words are indistinguishable. Bodhi laughs nervously. The rebels waiting in the cargo hold, armed to the teeth, shift restlessly. The world is inundated with the sounds of the living. 

It’s a very visceral sort of comfort, Cassian thinks, before he steps around the corner and away from it all.

This Imperial transport is Spartan, to say the least, but it has what he’s looking for—a bunkroom tucked into a corner beneath the flight deck, with a few bare cots. The last couple of high-stress days with only a wink of sleep are catching up to him, and they’re heading into something that will require his full attention and composure. He’d glanced at K2’s calculations on the dash, and deduced that the jump to Scarif was lengthy enough to give him the briefest moment of rest, should he care to seek it out. The weariness in his bones, for now, has overruled the rush of adrenaline in his veins at the mere thought of what lays ahead. 

It’s a weariness that has followed him for longer than he cares to admit.

His shoulder aches as he curls onto one of the cots; it’s an old injury, one that likes to remind him of its presence only when he needs his arm to be at its steadiest. If he held a gun in his hand, now, he knows it would shake, knows that slivers of white hot pain would expand from his shoulder blade into the nape of his neck like fingers. He would twitch and fidget until he could swallow back the pain, submerse it beneath a few past sins, force it down until it’s just another memory stirring in the pit of his stomach. 

He’s only just begun to nod off when a shadow falls over him. 

Something settles into a sitting position next to him. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s Jyn; the quiet rhythm of her breathing is telling enough. Her hand lifts; he can feel the shift in the air from the movement. Then her fingers are in his hair, gently moving across his scalp and tracing the shell of his ear. Still, he doesn’t open his eyes. 

“What you said was beautiful,” he mumbles, after a while. “Back on Yavin. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that it was beautiful, but it was.”

He’d hidden himself in the crowd, somewhere behind Mon Mothma’s left shoulder, afraid of what he might hear. Afraid, already, of what he was going to have to do. He had known, somewhere deep in the essence of him, that Jyn was telling the truth, that Galen Erso was honest as well. There would be no more orders to follow now. He’d steeled himself for the realities of the situation, but was still glad that no one had seen his face—surely, looking at Jyn, his feelings had been entirely too exposed. 

_What chance? What choice?_

It echoes in his mind.

(She echoes, too. Perhaps in a different way.)

“Thank you,” she replies softly. “I was thinking of you.”

He smiles, and feels her shift until the cot is caving into house both of their recumbent forms. Her breath rebounds off his lips. Finally, Cassian opens his eyes, and finds them level with hers. There is hardly any space left between them—he can see the white outline of a scar ringing her left eye, even through the dirt and grit of the last few days. He reaches up one thumb to wipe at a smudge of something on her cheekbone, but it’s his bad arm; she sees the way his hand shakes, and takes it in her own. 

“Alright?” she asks, the words barely a whisper. They reverberate in the air between them. 

By way of response, he kisses her. It starts off gentle, in deference to how tenuous the universe feels in these sorts of moments, but soon his hand is on her hip, his fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. Warm skin searches for warm skin. Her hand cups his cheek, then the back of his head, and for a while all he can hear his heartbeat, and maybe hers. 

From the flight deck above them, there comes the sound of footsteps, and finally they are shoved back into reality. Cassian breaks away first, but leaves his hand where it rests against the warmth of her ribcage. Her eyes are still half-lidded, their rapid breaths still mixing in the air between them. If he thinks about it, then it’s a little bit strange—he hardly knows this woman. He’s still raw from the argument they’d had leaving Eadu, still shaken by the ferocity of it, by the way she’d looked at him. Now, though, he doesn’t want to let go of her. Doesn’t want to move from this spot, to let go of the heartbeat they share. 

She says, “We should be there any minute.”

He doesn’t trust his voice, but nods. 

“I’m going to have to say something to them, aren’t I?” She bites her bottom lip, and then irony twinges her voice. “Rally the troops and all?”

“I trust you,” he rasps, tightening his grip on her side. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s said those words to anyone besides K2. He closes his eyes again so he doesn’t have to see her expression, doesn’t have to acknowledge the depth of his words. She knows what he means. She knows the value of trust, and every feeling that lurks beneath it. 

“I trust you, too,” she lets out, and his breath hitches. They meet eyes, and the intensity of it steals all rational thought. The universe is empty, save the two of them. He’s sure of it. 

She slips out of his grip, reaches for her coat and weapon, but lets a hand trail down his cheek before turning her back on him. He wishes he had kissed her again, just to remember what it felt like. He wishes he had properly apologized about her father. But then she’s gone, her boots echoing down the hall. It’s too late. 

Or maybe the words can wait—he can hold them for now, in the care of his heart, until they get on the other side of this. Once Scarif is a speck in the distance. There will be time for them, then. Time for all of them. He sits up, slides back into his coat, hardening himself for what lies ahead. 

There will be time.

**Author's Note:**

> lafayette1777.tumblr.com  
> pls come talk to me about rogue one!!


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